J. Poindexter, ColoredCobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
General
J. Poindexter, Colored
Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury)
African Americans -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
There was also considerable careless dancing done at the Banister place
that night and early the following morning. In fact, there was
considerable of a good many things done there that Saturday and
Sunday--tennis and golf and horseback-riding and billiards and pool and
going in swimming in a private lake on the premises and playing a card
game which they calls it auction-bridge, and eating and drinking and
smoking. Everybody is so busy all day changing clothes for the next
event they ain't got very much time for the thing that's on at the time
being. But when the night-time comes the ladies strips down to
full-dress and all hands just settles in for the three favorite sports,
which is dancing and cards and drinks, both long and short. I has seen
thirsty gentlemen before in my day but to the best of my recollection I
ain't never encountered no ladies that seemed so parched-like as one or
two of these here ladies was. I'm thinking in particular of Mrs.
Gaylord. She certainly is suffering from a severe attack of the genuine
parchments. But I'll say this much for her--she's doing her level best
to get shut of it by taking the ordained treatment. That Saturday
evening whilst I is upstairs in Mr. Dallas' room laying out his
dress-clothes, the guests, about a dozen of 'em is out in the front yard
setting round little tables where I can see 'em from the window, and
every time I passes the window and looks out it seems like she's being
served with a little bit more. She carries it just beautiful, though;
she certainly has my deep personal admirations for her capacity. But
next day when she comes down stairs she acts dauncy and low-spirited for
awhile. She's got on a fresh complexion, to be sure, but even so she
looks sort of weather-beaten 'round the eyes. You take 'em when they is
either prematurely old or else permanently young and the morning is
always the most tellingest time on 'em. Well, several of those present
ain't feeling the best in the world, seemingly, that Sunday when they
strolls forth for late breakfast 'long about half past eleven. It was
after three o'clock before they dispersed and some of 'em ain't entirely
got over it yet--they is still kind of dispersed-looking, if you gets my
meaning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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